Trusted Like The Fox by James Hadley Chase

of the upper class if you were to judge by her clothes (and how else were you to judge these days?), although behaving in a suspicious manner, was not breaking the law. There was no law against running across a golf course, and George suddenly wondered if he wasn’t rushing blindly into a hideous situation which might end by him receiving a severe reprimand. He had made a point never to take action against anyone who wore a collar and tie or a respectable costume without first consulting his inspector. He was ambitious, and he knew only too well how easily a police officer could lose promotion through overzealousness.
    He kept on, however, but the sting had gone out of his running. Grace gained a few yards, and the two elderly golfers, puffing and blowing in the rear, slowly closed the gap between Rogers and themselves.
    The more Rogers considered the idea that he was rushing into trouble the more he longed for the tall, dignified figure of his inspector to loom on the horizon. If he could only receive the official order to pursue this young woman he would have leapt forward and caught her in a moment, but the responsibility of chasing a Jaeger skirt and a Lillywhite jerkin across the fairway undermined his morale.
    He saw the girl stagger, and to his alarm the gap between them closed sharply. Instinctively he slowed his own pace, and it was with relief that he saw the girl recover and once more speed on. The stumble gave him an idea. He stumbled himself, and then clumsily threw up his hands and pitched forward, rolling on the ground.
    He sat up slowly as the two golfers, the Club Secretary and the Captain of the Team, came up.
    “Twisted my ankle, sir,” he said apologetically, and touched his boot gingerly. “I’ll be all right in a moment.”
    “Damn it, she’s getting away,” the Captain of the Team snorted, breathing heavily.
    The Club Secretary, a fat man in his late fifties, was too short of breath to speak, but he waved his hands excitedly after Grace as she disappeared down a steep dip in the fairway as if to urge Rogers in pursuit.
    Rogers got slowly to his feet.
    “I’ll be all right in a moment, sir,” he said, rubbing his ankle and avoiding the reproachful eyes of the two men. “I suppose it’s all right to follow that young lady?” he went on, looking up anxiously. “I know she’s behaving in a suspicious manner, sir, but it wouldn’t do to frighten one of the Club members, would it, sir?”
    The Club Secretary snorted. “She’s not a member, damn it,” he said, struggling to control his laboured breathing. “And what the hell is she running away for?”
    “If you ask me, she’s stolen those clothes,” the Captain of the Team said darkly. “You get after her, Rogers. We’ll take full responsibility.”
    “You will, sir?” Rogers asked, his moon-shaped face lighting up. “If there’s a mistake you’ll take the responsibility?”
    “Of course we will,” the Club Secretary returned. “Get after her, man. She’ll give us the slip if we’re not careful.”
    “Oh, no, she won’t, sir,” Rogers returned grimly. This was now quite a different kettle of fish. He had received his orders and he knew exactly where he stood. The responsibility was no longer his, and if this young woman thought she could get away from him, she was going to have the surprise of her life. He refused to believe that there could be another girl who could run as fast as Emily. Admittedly, this young woman had a good start, but he’d catch her. get her, sir. You come on as fast as you can.”
    He began to run in the direction Grace had taken, his long legs fairly flying over the grass.
    But the delay had been costly. Grace was no longer in sight. To the left of the fairway was a rising slope which finished in a line of bunkers. To the right was a flat wide stretch of grass. It was obvious to Rogers that the girl had run off to the left, and he pelted grimly towards the bunkers.
    In the meantime Grace had gone